


A Lucky Fall

by Tangerine



Category: Tarzan (1999), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, WTF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-03-19
Updated: 2000-03-19
Packaged: 2019-03-09 21:16:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13489944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tangerine/pseuds/Tangerine
Summary: A chance encounter leads to an even more unlikely one.





	A Lucky Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note (2018): I can't even explain this one. 2000 was a weird year.

"What the heck?" 

Warren Worthington, just by his very nature, tended to stray from the more abrasive vernacular. He had just never been good at cursing and gave up when he realised the only real power his foul mouth had was cajoling the other party into hearty laughter. The moment Warren realised his fists did the same job, he gave up on words and put all faith in his hands. He still got beat up a lot. He was just too pretty for the other boys to take him seriously. 

"What am I doing here? Where are my friends? Who are you? Why don't you speak to me? For God's sake, man, I need to know!" 

Warren Worthington also had inquisitive mind, though he rarely used it, and when he did he tended to throw out so many questions only one or two ever got answered. Adding to his troubles was the fact that the stranger, who knew how to stare and look blanker than a guilty Iceman ever had, wasn't paying attention to any of his questions. 

"Do you even speak English? Or are you a mute?" 

The stranger still didn't respond and took that exact moment to sniff Warren, invading his space and having no respect for personal boundaries. Warren wasn't quite sure what to make of having this odd gentleman sniff at him like a dog and was even more befuddled when the wild man paused to focus solely on Warren's hair, the callused fingers pulling on the golden locks. 

"Hey, there," Warren said with a grimace, his fingers wrapping around the dark wrist and pulling it away from his head, "that hurts." 

"Hurts?" 

Warren blinked. "Yes, hurts." 

The stranger, who was looking genuinely perplexed now, put one hand on Warren's wing. Warren bit his lip, only now conscious of the pain the wing sprain caused as it darted sharp daggers of agony down his back. "Hurts?" 

"Yes, it hurts a lot," Warren replied, dropping his head back to the tree bark. "And if I could figure out just what it is I'm doing here, I'd probably be able to find my friends and get some ice for it, but as it is I have no idea where I am or who you are." 

Warren had some memory of what led to him lying on the tree branch, wounded horribly and glad to be alive, though Warren also subconsciously acknowledged he had a flair for melodrama and was probably just bruised, but he liked to think his fall had been dire. 

A cloud of feathers had followed Warren Worthington as he had plunged towards the earth, one crooked wings laying at wrong angles from his body and the other spread grandly, trying bravely to flap despite the other's injury. His body had plowed into the canopy of the tropical forest, hitting three branches and snapped one clean off before arms came around his waist and effectively saved his life. 

Warren sighed deeply. "Well, I do appreciate you stopping my fall. I imagine it would have been the end of me. I'd move if I could, but my mangled wing isn't doing much for me right now. I think I'd like to sleep here for a bit if you don't mind." 

The stranger seemed to be disregarding Warren's muttering as he continued sniffing around the base of the white wing, rubbing his cheek along the uninjured one and receiving a mute groan for his efforts. The man stopped and looked at Warren, who was blushing horribly and shaking his head, trying to pretend this was all a dream. 

"I'm Warren, by the way," Warren said quietly when he could finally speak at all, the mild reprieve his vocalisations had granted him allowing him a moment to talk and be friendly with this strange creature. "I'd rather you not fondle my wings." 

"Warren?" The odd man touched Warren's wing. "Warren." 

"No, not the wings, me," Warren pointed to himself the best he could though the fact he was lying on his stomach and unwilling to lift his body made it awkward. "Warren." 

The tanned fingers touched the light skin of Warren's shoulder, his uniform having long since been shredded from his body and now tinkled the forest floor with scraps of unstable molecules. "Warren." The wild man smiled, moving his dark hand from Warren's back to his own chest. "Tarzan." 

"Tarzan?" The young man nodded enthusiastically. "And I thought Calvin was strange," Warren mumbled into the tree, hoping the constant friction of the bark wouldn't damage his face too badly. "You'll forgive me, but I have to sleep now." 

**** 

When Warren woke, he was all alone and lying half-naked on a mattress of soft, green leaves. Odd, Warren thought immediately as he sat up and looked down at himself, I'm wearing a loincloth. How ... rural. 

Warren winced when he tried to move his injured wing, the muscles too tight to move without pain and too weak to lift him out of this paradise. All right, he still couldn't fly which meant that he still couldn't survey the area and figure out just what had happened to cause this trip into the bizarre, but that was just fine. Warren could deal with this. He had some incredible coping mechanisms. After all, had he not just faced some prehistoric, demon-spawn-type-thing that would have reduced any common superhero into mush? 

"And got beaten for it, no less," Warren muttered bitterly, picking at the leaves and compulsively rearranging them into a more aesthetically pleasing pile. "Things like this always happen to me. God forbid Cyclops ever find himself with a strained wing and sitting helpless with a strange wild man watching his every move." Warren raised his voice. "And I do know you're out there, Tarzan! You might as well stop hiding!" 

On cue, Tarzan dropped down and offered Warren a fruit. Warren resisted the urge to slap himself unconscious and took the item, biting into it and grateful it tasted better than it looked. It was actually quite delicious, juicy and slick in his fingers, but Warren was too sour to spare anything more than a grumbled mutter of thanks. 

Warren didn't notice Tarzan had come closer until he felt the hands on his wings again, playing with the feathers and causing Warren to shudder visibly. This definitely never happened to Cyclops. Only to him, only ever to him and maybe Bobby, though the Iceman was hardly ever this lucky. 

Warren nearly choked when he listened to himself. Lucky? Just how did this make him, Warren Worthington the Third, pompous city boy who avoided the outdoors like the black plague, lucky? Maybe, a small part of Warren was willing to admit, he was lucky because this Tarzan fellow just happened to be, though Warren was reluctant to use the word, gorgeous. 

"Oh, gosh, I must be better than myself," Warren muttered, pressing his palms to his eyes as he fought to ignore the hand tousling his wing feathers. "He's probably just curious. There we go. He's a curious young chap who's just never seen a man with wings ... ah!" 

Tarzan jumped back and Warren jumped forward. They shared a look, one of confusion yet undeniable intrigue. Warren wished he was back home, hassling Bobby and annoying Hank and pursuing Jean. This wasn't fair. 

"You just stay back, you wild man you," Warren said, backing away even as the brown-haired man came closer, keeping his arm out as he tried to set boundaries. "Oh please, just stay there and don't touch my wings. You don't understand what it feels like." 

"Hurts?" 

"Oh, no, not at all," Warren amended quickly when he saw the hurt cross over Tarzan's handsome ... darn it ... average, he meant average, face. "I just ... why does this always happen to me? If I looked like Scott, this wouldn't happen to me. I just want this to make sense." 

Tarzan drew nearer to Warren, and Warren realised he hadn't any room to move away. Oh bother. This was the end. Warren, for all his good intentions and puritan thoughts, couldn't even pretend that if Tarzan touched his wings again he'd survive it. It was bad enough his costume, all though no less revealing, had been discarded for a skimpy loincloth. It hid nothing. Warren was becoming painfully aware of that fact. 

Now Warren, in worrying maniacally about his wings, didn't realise Tarzan wasn't looking at his back anymore. Warren yipped in surprise when he felt the hand come down on his thigh, rough hands yet still so soft ... Warren shook his head. Mind on the task at hand and not on the living wet dream who had his hand on Warren's ... oh, gosh. Warren swooned. This was definitely the end. 

"This is why I can't pull off the loincloth like you do," Warren said calmly, trying not to let his eyes run the length of Tarzan's body, the sharply chiselled muscles, the lean bone structure, the beautiful sapphire eyes ... the eyes were the windows to his soul and Warren feared he'd be blinded if he looked much longer. "Oh, this is so wrong of me. You don't even speak English, though we look to be the same age ... but still, bad Warren, bad! " 

By now, Tarzan had his fingers near a very naughty place and Warren feared he might cry. If this wasn't what he really, _really_ wanted, and it was what he really, _really_ wanted, Warren would be offended by the curious appendage. As it was, the loincloth wasn't going to hide his growing arousal much longer, if it was at all, and Tarzan would regret ever sparking the infamous Worthington hormones. It was a very dangerous thing to do. 

"I'm cursed," Warren decided, weakly trying to bat Tarzan away. "I don't know why you're so concerned with me. You have the same thing that I do." Warren pointed in the general direction of Tarzan's groin then nearly passed out when he brushed said groin with the back of his hand. His hand had not just brushed but lingeringly caressed. "Oh dear. Do you just want to have sex and be done with it?" 

"Sex?" 

"Yeah," Warren said meekly, "like this." 

Warren leaned on one arm to support his weight and kissed Tarzan, slowly and calmly though he was shaking like a leaf. The receiving mouth was warm and soft and entirely still, which wasn't what he wanted so Warren lifted his other hand to the sculpted face, his thumb massaging the jaw so the mouth spread slightly and his fingers tangling with the unruly hair. 

"Just like this," Warren muttered, feeling an enticing mix of guilt and lust. He was used to feeling guilty. It pretty summed up his life most of the time, but lust, there were very few people in existence that could stir lust in him. Still, the guilt was a bit depressing. "Oh, I wish you could speak to me. Though," Warren smiled to himself, "your loincloth doesn't hide much either." 

Tarzan stared at Warren, and Warren shrugged lightly, wanting very much to make wild, passionate love to this very _attractive_ and _sexy_ and _strange_ man but the guilt factor was killing the mood. Life was indeed cruel. 

"Hurts?" Tarzan said quietly, touching Warren's face because they were still within a breath of each other. Warren shook his head. "Sex." 

"I can't. I might hurt you," Warren muttered, "then I'll feel just awful." 

Tarzan thought about this for all of thirty seconds before putting his hand back on Warren's thigh, his fingers just barely brushing the swell of muscle. Warren tensed and shook his head again, trying to be valiant and good and all those things he wanted to be, but it felt so wonderful, so absolutely sublime, that he knew he wasn't going to stand strong on this issue. "No hurts Tarzan." 

"Oh, don't give me those puppy dog eyes," Warren said, back to leaning on his arm, back to touching his hand to the chestnut dreadlocks, back to rendering the loincloth useless. So what if they couldn't really talk? If it didn't bother Tarzan, it didn't bother Warren. There. Problem solved. Having settled that, they could move onto more important things. 

Warren tried the seduction again then nearly choked when Tarzan beat him to it, some primal mating instinct kicking in and taking firm hold of the situation. The touch of their lips was soft at first, pressing lightly upon each other, merely tasting and wanting to taste. In time, the hesitant tongues greeted and met in a truly intimate embrace. 

Warren gasped as fingers slid up his spine, pressing lightly on flawless flesh to draw shivers in the middle of extreme heat then burying themselves in the warm down of wings, stroking in ways Warren had only ever imagined. The touches drew cries from his lips that parted and pressed tightly to the long neck of the wild man who seemed to know far more than Warren thought he did originally. 

Warren arched his back when the hands petted an amazingly sensitive swell of skin at the base of his wings, and his body, albeit ungracefully, met Tarzan's form. Tarzan stopped his caresses, resting his hand on that _perfect_ spot and pressing Warren so close their chests touched and their hearts jumped at the contact. 

Warren, watching the beautiful face for a reaction, dropped his head onto the muscled shoulder of Tarzan as he pressed his palm to the inside of Tarzan's thigh. The wild man remained perfectly still as the hand moved up his leg, dipping under the flaps of his loincloth and touching the heated flesh found beneath. Tarzan's azure eyes went wide with surprise, and Warren smiled gently, tenderly cupping the heavy bulge, stroking and pressing until a small gasp of pleasure rang in his ears. 

The urgent pitch of desire seemed to change, both men could feel it, and with nimble fingers, Warren untied the loincloth of his partner then removed his own, all the while trying to think as the hands on his back started to move again. Thighs spread to rest of either side of Warren's legs and the brunt of Tarzan's mass settled on Warren's groin, send shocks of divine pleasure through them both. Mouths parted and met again, tongues tangling and fighting, arms crossing and hooking their bodies together in the most wondrous puzzle. 

It was a primal joining now, control was a thing of memories, white-hot _need_ was a thing of now. Warren was pinned under the stronger body, writhing as a mouth tongue branded his chest, suckling each hardened nipple in turn until Warren was blinded by the sparks beneath his eyelids. His own hands came up and grasped the slender hips of Tarzan, pulling the body onto his, rubbing their erections in the most glorious of dances, hot and hard and male. 

Warren cried out as teeth nipped his shoulder, not from pain because there was none but from the act of it, the sensation of incisors grazing his flesh and marking him. Primal need, primal fury, and Warren wanted it all, to lose himself and to find himself all at once, wanting to take and to give, all of it and nothing less. 

Fingers touched Warren, pressed to his core and he jumped, bracing his feet in the pile of leaves. Part of his brain grew afraid, worried that it would hurt, but then the fingers left only to return sticky, slick with the juice of the fruit Warren had half-eaten earlier. Warren groaned when he was faced with the overwhelming emptiness again, the hand gone and leaving him wanton, but the pressure that came next, the slippery length of hot flesh pressing into him, utterly filled him. 

Warren didn't mind this coupling, in fact, it felt marvellous. He raised his legs so they wrapped around the dark body that waited for him to adjust, and he lifted his hands to the unruly hair, cradling the beautiful head and kissing the sweet lips again. Tarzan's hands, always so adventurous, slide under Warren's body and into the wings again as his hips pushed forward, thrusting slowly. Frantic kisses ensued, a wholly sweet mixing of delicious honied nectar as the bodies pushed so deeply together a single breath from one sent the other into fits of delight. 

It was such a daring strike at freedom and such an incredible release of control but neither seemed concerned with it. The motions between them were delirious, limbs meeting and twining together, one hot erection trapped between taunt and straining bellies, the other buried completely inside an incredible jail of fire. 

Mouths swallowing the cries, both men came with tears in their eyes then collapsed weakly, panting and gasping for air, aware of the seal that kept them together. Tarzan was the first to move, his tongue swiping along Warren's abdomen and cleaning him. Warren, in turn, bathed Tarzan, aware that this was his life blood he was consuming, bringing back into his body the seed that made him a man. 

They shared a slow and careful kiss, a kiss thanks and of good-bye too. Warren heard the calls of his friends, speaking his name and trying to find him. Tarzan, as if understanding, retied Warren's loincloth and patted his hip with a gentle smile. 

"I better go," Warren muttered, feeling like he was running out too soon, but Tarzan merely redressed himself and looked to where the X-Men were walking, still too far to see into the nest of emerald leaves and tall plants. "Thank you." 

"You are welcome," Tarzan said quietly, standing up and flipping his hair over his broad shoulders, flattening his loincloth on his body. "Jane will wonder where Tarzan has gone. Glad to meet you, _Warren_." 

Tarzan winked and grabbed a vine, disappearing into the trees and leaving Warren to gawk in shock, blinking many times before he felt himself capable of registering his words. Holy _shit_ , someone had just been played for a fool and Warren would be damned if it wasn't him. 

Smiling to himself and trying to flatten his dishevelled hair, Warren thought himself to be the luckiest man in existence because things like this just never happened to anyone else. What a lucky fall ...


End file.
